


Nightlife

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drag Queens, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20901086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gladio tries a new bar.





	Nightlife

Gladiolus isn’t gay by any stretch of the imagination. He likes girls. He _loves_ girls. He can appreciate that Prompto has a great ass, but he’d still rather sleep with Larxene even though she’s a terrible human being. When he goes out clubbing, which certainly isn’t an everyday thing but also isn’t a rarity, he usually goes to the same few rowdy downtown hangouts where he’s guaranteed to walk out with at least one woman on his arm. 

But he’s getting to the point where he’s already gone through most of the women there, still hasn’t found one he’d like to go through again, so for once, he figures _screw it_. He’ll try something different. Something new. Like the fancy gay bar downtown with the plethora of neon signs out front and the ever-present lineup of guys desperate to get in. 

He doesn’t wait in line. Gladiolus works out hard enough and is _just_ well known enough to always get a free ticket. The people that don’t know his family’s worked for the crown since the beginning of time can at least recognize his giant muscles. He takes his shirt off in the car just in case. When he strolls up to the bouncers outside, pecs lit up in the fluorescent light of the open door, he sees the way both men eye him up. Their gazes drift from head to foot and back again, lingering along the black lines of his tattoo. Then they lift the rope for him, and he goes right past the bitter whiners still stuck in line. 

Inside, it’s pretty much what he expects. The music’s playing, loud and pounding, people are dancing all over the floor, and the walls are lined with small tables flirtatious couples are piled up at. He doesn’t go to the bar yet, because it’s occurred to him that for once, he might be able to find someone to buy _him_ a drink. He usually does all the buying. Tonight, he’s ready for new experiences. He can already feel a few sets of eyes on him as he weaves through the crowd, searching for something appealing.

There are all types of men around him, and even a couple of women, plus a few he’s not sure of, which would work for him just as well. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s looking for, but he’ll know it when he sees it. Probably someone thin, since two big guys wouldn’t fit in his bed; he takes up enough space already. Maybe someone tall. Well dressed. He could go for the nerdy type—maybe someone with glasses. Somebody smart. And nobody that’s going to use him to get close to their prince. 

The music cuts, and someone starts speaking over a microphone—Gladiolus’ eyes go to the stage. He doesn’t quite catch what the speaker’s saying, mainly because the crowd keeps cutting in with cheers. Whatever’s about to happen, they’re very much into it. Most of the dancing’s stopped—people have parted, taking seats in the back or shuffling closer to the stage. Gladiolus didn’t notice how prominent it was before, but then, it had the curtain down. With a few last words, the speaker walks off, and the lights cut. 

They reappear in a circle at the side, and one impossibly long, pantyhose-clad leg kicks out, heel stomping to the floor. The audience goes nuts. A new beat starts up—an old classic that Gladiolus’ father used to listen to on the radio. The leg pulls back, and a woman twirls out onto the stage, the spotlights following her before flaring out, and the disco ball comes down. 

Gladiolus watches the woman strut right to center stage, tall and lean and beautiful, her lips singing along with exaggerated precession. There’s no microphone, but Gladiolus already knows she isn’t singing live; it’s the original recording. She is putting on a show, though; her arms sweep out, her enormous, full-sequined dress kicking up with every spin. Her eyes gleam under the lights, and then they catch on Gladiolus, and he realizes it’s not a woman at all.

He knows those eyes. He’s just not used to seeing them without glasses. He’s never seen those lips rouged. The hair is fake—a huge, white gold wig. But he knows that face. He _didn’t_ know that Ignis did drag. 

In that moment, Ignis stops. The song carries on, his lack of lip-syncing terribly conspicuous. Someone boos, then someone else joins in. Ignis’ face has completely fallen, the colour draining right out of it, despite the blush and powder he’s obviously applied.

Gladiolus takes that in. his gaze traces down Ignis’ body, normally so lean and trim, now padded out with a small chest and a tighter waist, culminating in a large rear, highlighted by the flaring skirt. Gladiolus has no idea how he created that illusion, but it’s working. The outfit is theatrical but on the more realistic side—convincing, even. He looks different but beautiful. 

He takes a step back. Gladiolus has no idea how he manages to walk in those prominent heels. Then Gladiolus realizes that Ignis is frozen because of _him_, and it’s his fault the crowd is getting restless.

So he turns it around. He starts clapping, keeping his eyes fixed on Ignis, making it known that yes, he sees it, but he’s okay with it—he supports it. He claps louder and whistles, then shouts, “Go, Iggy!” If Ignis has a stage name, Gladiolus doesn’t know it. Yet.

All at once, the breath comes back to Ignis. He turns around, then suddenly cartwheels backwards, his long legs flying in the air and showing off his glittering heels. As soon as he hits the ground again, he’s singing, falling right back into tune and strutting about the stage with the most vibrant dance moves Gladiolus has ever seen. It’s invigorating and captivating; the crowd turns again and explodes in cheers and clapping. 

Gladiolus cheers the loudest. He doesn’t take his eyes off Ignis, even when someone taps on the shoulder. A scruffy beard leans over it and shouts into his ear, “Buy you a drink?”

Gladiolus gestures to the stage and calls over the music, “No thanks; I’m waiting for him!”


End file.
